


Return to the Winter Palace

by inquisitorsmabari



Series: Inquisitor Amelie Trevelyan [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Amputation, Angst, Blood and Injury, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Established Relationship, Explicit Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Healing, I will add more tags as they become appropriate, Marriage, NSFW, Nudity, Oral Sex, PSTD, Smut, Trauma, Trespasser DLC, Vaginal Sex, WIP, Wedding Night, graphic descriptions of pain, long fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 17:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12040527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitorsmabari/pseuds/inquisitorsmabari
Summary: The Council has been called, and the Inquisition has no choice but to answer, answer for their actions over the last two years, for their continued presence at Skyhold which threatens both Orlais and Ferelden, and answer the question of what should become of the Inquisition now that their original purpose has been fulfilled.Amelie Trevelyan has been Inquisitor for over two years, where would she go if the Inquisition fell, what would she become? She is determined not to find out the answer to these questions, to convince the council that the Inquisition can survive. But fate has its own plans for her and her Inquisition.Where will the Inquisition be once all this is over?





	1. The Palace Gardens

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to my last one, Scandal at the Winter Palace, but you don't have to read that one to understand what's happening in this one and really, the last one was me getting used to the style and structure of long fics. 
> 
> So, with the return to the Winter Palace after the fall of Corypheus, comes heightened drama, political intrigue and, of course, continued romance. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this and thanks for reading!
> 
> Note: Any NSFW chapters will be labelled as such, please check the chapter titles/notes.

She had never noticed how beautiful the gardens of the Winter Palace were. Perhaps it was the golden light of the sun which shone overhead, dazzling her with the way it pierced the waters of the large, glistening fountain, casting rainbows over the collection of flowers and herbs which bloomed in a beautiful array of colours. Perhaps it was the breath of fresh air after being trapped in Skyhold for so long, the warmer temperature down here was a refreshing change, even for someone like her who preferred the cold. Perhaps it was the laughter she shared with her friends; the antics of Iron Bull’s chargers, Sera’s giggles which filled the tavern, Varric’s insistence on showering her with absurd titles and gifts. She would have to visit that estate in Kirkwall some day.

But, she thought, nothing was more beautiful than stumbling upon Cullen in a moment where his stern countenance had abandoned him, where he had shaken off the shackles of military command and the duties of his post, all because he had made himself a new friend.

“Woof!” A loud bark alerted him to her presence, and she could hide no longer, caught in the act by the large black and white mabari who had been receiving enthusiastic belly rubs from Cullen who she could say with certainty was the happiest person she had bumped in to so far.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” She said, reaching her hand down to greet the dog, and receiving a curious sniff followed by a big, slobbery, lick. “Oh gross!”

“Don’t be mean!” He cried as he crouched next to the dog.

She laughed, reaching down to pay reparations by tickling the dog behind the ear, which he seemed to like, his eyes closing as he relaxed in to her hand. It was a ridiculous situation, finding her lover of almost two years in a corner of the palace garden sat on the floor petting a mabari. What was a mabari doing at the Winter Palace, anyway?

She pushed these thoughts to the back of her head as she talked to Cullen alone for the first time since they had arrived. There was no one else around and, for once, they could talk freely. They didn’t have to hide how much they cared for each other, their concern for one another. They didn’t have to hide their trip to see his family in the South Reach, she could ask him about his family, and he could tell her that they were eager to see her again, that they would arrange something one day, when this council had been dealt with.

Perhaps that was what had emboldened him, given him the courage to do something which she never imagined he would do right in the heart of Orlais, in the shadow of the Winter Palace itself. Perhaps it was because the two of them had talked in that quiet corner of the garden for so long, away from prying eyes, that he made a move which caught her off guard, stunned her in to silence. 

Perhaps her memories of the Winter Palace gardens were so beautiful because that was where Cullen Rutherford had uttered those two words, a question which she had known the answer to for so long, she could scarcely believe that there was a time where she would’ve answered anything but yes.

“Marry me?”


	2. Candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor knows she has to write home about her marriage to Cullen, but she just can't get the words out, especially when Cullen turns up halfway through and starts distracting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear: the bits she is writing are the bits in italics, I have no idea how to make it stand out more i really don't.

The hour was late. It was the time of the owl flying high above the land in search of prey. The time of the drunken reveller who tried desperately to find his way home. The time for blowing out the candle at the bedside and slipping in to a deep sleep. And yet, the candles in her room still burned tall and bright, casting rays of golden light upon the desk at which she sat, and leaving the rest of the room in an ominous darkness. How long had she been there? She couldn’t tell, yet the parchment in front of her had barely been marked, a single sentence lining the top of the page.

She scratched it out. It was no use. This was something she had to do, she knew it. But it was late, it was dark, and she had been drinking with her friends in a warm tavern packed with wellwishers and curious onlookers not so long before. Or maybe it was? She had lost all track of time as she tried over and over again to bring words to parchment, and yet she couldn’t.

The problem was: how do you tell your mother that you’re married?

Well, preferably, you didn’t, or you told them that you were seeing someone in the first place and none of this would be an issue. But her last encounter with her family was awkward enough without bringing up her secret love affair with her commander.

It shouldn’t matter. She hadn’t seen them since she was seven years old. She’d been stripped of her nobility in the Circle, she couldn’t make any claim to Ostwick or any of her father’s lands, she was not her brother, she was not her sister, not worthy of a marriage between great families, not worth being sold to the highest bidder. It’s not like her mother would lose anything from this.

Except her mother barely knew her. She’d been to visit after the fall of Corypheus, she’d returned to her childhood home, where her room had been turned in to a study for her father, where her little sister, who she would always remember as the baby she was when she had left, was pregnant with her first child. And her mother, who was smiling and laughing, remained distant around her, lost almost, unsure of how to act, or what to do. She loved her mother still, and her mother loved her, she thought, but they both loved another version of one another. She loved the mother who had cried as she was taken away, and her mother loved the seven year old girl who she never thought she would see grow in to a woman.

No, she couldn’t write to her mother. What was the point? It would be a long time before she could really call them a family again. It was funny, visiting Cullen’s familywasn’t awkward, they had brought her in to their homes and treated her as one of their own. But here she was, unable to write to her own damn mother. And her hand wasn't making it any easier, either, the nagging pain deep under the skin gnawing away at her mind as she tried desperately to conjure something, anything. But nothing came.

The candles were getting lower, the room darker. She sighed, looking up in to the darkness ahead of her and towards the window where a slither of moonlight entered her room. She should be out there with her friends, celebrating her marriage. But she had chosen to come back here despite their protests, and yet she had achieved nothing.

And then she thought back to the last time she had stayed at the palace; the Empress’s ball. How different the atmosphere was, back then she was trying to save the world, now she was trying to save herself and everything she had fought for, because Maker knows she was not about to give up after she had spent the last two years finding her place, rising to heights she had never imagined under the crushing roof of the Ostwick Circle Tower. 

It hit her, the inspiration she had been looking for, with all the force of a charging bull, and she began to write as the words came to her as easily as a flowing river. Except the letter she wrote wasn’t to her mother.

_Lionel,_

_I know it has been some time since I last wrote to you, any of you, and I am sorry for that. But the preparations for this council which I have been forced to attend were almost as exhausting as the council itself promises to be._

_Still, as pressing as the council is, it is not why I write to you. I write to you because I must, because I have tried for so long to pen a letter to our mother, but I soon found that the words do not flow as easily as when your name lies at the top of the parchment._

_Back at the Winter Palace you told me of your marriage, your guilt, your regrets. I took that as a warning, a warning against following the predetermined path of fate, against following the traditions of our family and countless other noble families, against prioritising duty over my own happiness._

_And so I hope that you will be pleased to hear that I accepted my commander’s offer of marriage with not even an ounce of regret. And I am glad I did. It was, I think, the best day of my life. We stood in the beautiful gardens of the Winter Palace where no one but the Maker and a Chantry sister could hear our vows and, if the Maker is displeased, I have not been made aware of this yet, but then that may come later, I suppose._

The door opened with such force that she almost jumped out of her chair, her quill dropping from her hand and landing on the desk, the ink splattering across the wood and marking the parchment ever so slightly. 

“What are you doing in here my love?” Cullen asked as he wandered over to the desk, standing behind her as she sat at the chair and placing an arm around her torso, his head peering over her shoulder to stare at the letter, but she could tell he wasn’t reading it; by the looks of him, he wasn’t interested in it, but rather, in her. 

“You smell like beer,” She complained.

“I know,” He said. “I’ve had a bit to drink.”

“A bit?”

“Just a bit.” He responded his words losing themselves in her skin as he kissed the side of her neck with fervour, his small, light kisses leaving a trail past her jaw and growing, getting stronger as they migrated down almost to her collarbone. 

“Cullen,” She said with a sigh. “I need to finish this.”

“Alright,” He huffed. “One more?”

“Go on then,”

This time, she turned her head towards him, her lips meeting his in a clash of alcohol induced, post-wedding, excitement. There was something different about kissing him now that they were married, now that it was at least somewhat acceptable to be doing so. Whether it was the alcohol they had both been guilty of consuming, or the knowledge that she was kissing her husband, rather than her secret lover, she couldn’t tell. She wanted more, and she would have it, once she was done with her letter, of course.

_Do with this information what you will. Tell our parents, or do not. But know this: I go in to this council fearing what is to come. Whether it is the curt nature of the Ferelden ambassador that has me worried, or the tremors in my left hand which persist even as I am writing this, I cannot tell._

She paused for just a second as she stared at her left hand which lay resting on the desk. She could see it move as the candlelight flickered across it, she could see the shaking of her fingers, the straining of her muscles and tendons. With everything that had happened, the spa, the opera, the pranks with Sera, her wedding, she had almost forgotten the numb feeling in her hand which had worsened as the council drew nearer. She had wanted to forget it too, but it was getting harder and harder with each passing day.

She heard the mattress creak as Cullen got in to bed behind her and she turned to look at her husband as he relaxed amongst the copious amounts of pillows and blankets which adorned the bed. They must’ve known that’s how she liked it. It was even better now she could share it with Cullen, though, even if he did complain about a pillow which dug in to his naked back. She smiled as she saw him, small against the plethora of decorative cushions, but as beautiful as ever, and she knew that, whatever happened, she had him. And so she turned away to finish her writing, eager to finish and join her new husband.

_Whatever happens, whatever this council brings, I know at least that I have a husband who loves me, friends who I love so dearly, and a brother I could share all of this with before my fate is sealed, whatever that fate may be._

_Your Sister,  
Amélie._

She put down her quill, and joined her husband on her bed, _their_ bed. Her attention was on him, his body, his smell, the intimacy between the two of them. She didn’t notice the candle at her desk burn down to its wick, the wax melting and dripping on to her desk, the light in that corner of the room beginning to wane.

The flame extinguished, replaced by a shadow of itself; a small trail of smoke which danced in the darkness, unnoticed.


	3. The Last Vow (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after the wedding ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a smutty, NSFW, chapter, do not read if you are uncomfortable with reading oral/penetrative sex, your experience reading this fic will (hopefully) not be impacted if you choose not to as really it adds nothing to the narrative it's just some wedding night fun ;)

They started slow. A longing gaze shared for what felt like an age marked the start of their wedding night, until Cullen brought himself towards her, placing himself behind her as she perched on the edge of the bed still in the dress she had been married in, the memories of this afternoon, of a golden sun and golden hair, clinging to the soft, white fabric, and to her. But now, the elegant cloth which covered her skin would be replaced by the chill of the oncoming Autumn as he pulled at the lacing on her back, exposing her not just to the elements, but to his fervour.

He couldn’t help himself, she knew, her freckled skin proving irresistible to him, a blank canvas to be painted with fervent kisses. How could she complain? His arms warmed her, his kisses quelled the goose pimples which littered her skin, and each time he migrated to an unexplored area of skin, each new path which almost always led south made her head spin more and more until she couldn’t take any more teasing, until it was her turn to tease him.

And tease him she did, playing with his desires with the touch of her hand, tender kisses on his warm skin, whispers in his ear of love, passion, desire. Of what she could do to him, of what he should do to her on this night after their holy vows of marriage. You only have one wedding night, and she wanted to make it count, and she knew he did too. 

He heeded her requests with an enthusiasm unmatched by any of their earlier encounters, she had barely even breathed the words when he almost threw her down on to the covers beneath them and lowered himself down, down, tracing his path with quick, light kisses, until he blessed the area between her legs with soft lips and a fierce, wet tongue. 

They hadn’t done this often, they were normally pressed for time when they were at Skyhold, but Maker she would ask him to do this every time from now on. She was soon sent to a state of ecstasy, a world above their own made entirely of her pleasure, ascending further and further in to the heavens with each movement of his mouth and tongue. His hands roamed her body as his mouth continued its task, starting on her thighs with his head still between them, and moving up over her hips, her stomach, her waist, finding her breasts and teasing the sensitive skin around her nipples with the light brush of his fingers, before enveloping them with his palms and massaging them both. She felt as if he were worshipping every inch of her body with his hands, his lips, his piercing eyes. She knew that he could finish her like this, and so she egged him on with words and moans and gasps of breath drawn in desperation as she clung on to the sheets below her, desperate to maintain her hold on this world as she ascended in to another.

And then it was his turn. She couldn’t match his speed, instead she had to direct him to his place beneath her with words and whispers between panting breaths. But soon she towered over him, and he was at the mercy of the Inquisitor, his path to desire completely in her control as hers had been not so long before. And with his body trapped beneath hers, she took his penis in to her hands as if it were second nature to pleasure him like this, and she began her work.

She could see his pleasure mounting as his back arched, the muscles in his legs tensing beneath her own as he instinctively moved towards her. But he wasn’t there yet, she knew now how he looked when he orgasmed, and he was getting there, but not yet. She knew he needed more, something different, and the cramp which was building in her left hand agreed. So she let go and, registering the look of disappointment on his face, she lowered herself and placed his penis in to her mouth, eliciting a loud moan from him which only continued as she moved her mouth and tongue along the length of him. But she didn’t do this for long, he soon stopped her and brought himself above her once again, and she knew full well that he wanted them to finish together; their last vow of marriage, spoken together as the contract was sealed with the gasping and moaning which accompanied their climaxes.

He entered her as gently as he needed to, but the slow pace soon quickened as she found herself once again reaching for that climax, grasping at the bed covers, at her hair, at him, anything that was within her reach, anything which could help ground her, keep her in the moment with Cullen, her husband, the man she had loved for two years now, who stood above her with his muscular arms either side of her moving faster and faster until their moans grew louder and louder and their grasp on reality moved further and further away.

And then he slowed, and so did she, the two of them still and silent in the crisp, cold air of the bedroom as he continued to tower over her, their bodies rising and falling almost in unison as they caught their breath. It was some time before they untangled themselves from one another, before they cleaned up the remnants of their wedding night but, once he had returned to her side, they couldn’t quite let go of one another yet. He held her face in his hands, and she held his in hers, her left hand marred by the tremors she knew he could feel, that she had tried to hide since they had arrived. But he reacted to them for only a second, a brief flicker of concern marring his face before his hands removed hers from the right side of his face And he planted a brief kiss upon her palm before wrapping her hand in his. But that small action, that tiny gesture of affection, brought a smile to her face, and made her think that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out just fine.


	4. The Council Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, the council cannot wait, even if it is the morning after the Inquisitor's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took ages but shit happens and uni has started again so rip me

She awoke to the sound of the birds singing in their trees; the light of the morning sun streaming in through the thin curtains and filling the room with a golden aura which signified that the morning of the council had arrived with earnest. She sighed, rolling over in an attempt to block out the invading light, but instead she found herself facing not just Cullen, but the large, slobbering dog she had almost forgotten about.

She was never normally the first one to wake, not by choice anyway. She almost always found herself waking up either with Cullen next to her passing the time with a book or letters or paperwork, or she would wake up to an empty bed, her now husband wandering around busying himself with washing his face or doing his hair, which always seemed to take an age. She had rarely laid her eyes upon him as he slept, observed the rise and fall of his chest or the twitching of muscle as he dreamt. And she had never, ever, woken up to the feeling of a mabari stretching in its sleep and kicking her in the foot.

Her yelp woke Cullen almost in an instant, his eyes, confused and heavy from sleep, instantly fell on her as if to accuse.

“Why is he in here?” She questioned. She had no objection to him, really. He was cute and very playful, but she did object to being made to share her bed with the lumbering beast. She had always liked her space in bed, and the covers; she could tell a war would brew between her and the mabari, and that she would, inevitable, lose.

“Because it was cold outside and he wanted to come in.” He answered with a sigh as he rolled over to face her.

“Well I want to skip the council and stay here forever,” She said. “But you’re not going to let me, are you?”

“No, sorry,” He responded, stroking the freckled skin on her cheeks with his hand, which felt so warm against her skin in the bitter morning air. They smiled at each other as they hid beneath the covers, their heads the only parts of their bodies they dared expose to the elements, but she knew that her smile was only have genuine. All the warmth and happiness of yesterday has been replaced with the cold, empty feeling of dread which lingered deep within her, worming its way around her until she felt physically sick. “Amy?”

She rediscovered her smile. She was sharing her bed with her husband, his face studied hers with an unmatched intensity as she looked in to his warm brown eyes, a routine they had shared on many mornings before. Except it was different now; none of them knew when they would see each other like this again, in the purest moment of intimacy. But now, they could share their moments together, the gazes in to one another’s eyes, the touching of entwined fingers, skin upon skin, and they could be sure that once they were forced to part, they would soon find one another again, on another morning on another day, but still, they would find each other.

\-----

The council was tedious, true, and frustrating to say the least. Hearing all of her feats laid out before her as interferring, dangerous, harmful to the state of peace between Orlais and Ferelden, this was not what she wanted to hear on the morning after her wedding. Although, of course, no one was meant to know about that. Except she could’ve sworn she’d heard some unsavoury whispers on her way to the council chamber this morning; Josephine had given her some off looks too as she walked to the doors of the chamber with Cullen. Well, surely after all the harm she’d supposedly inflicted on Thedas, if the Ferelden ambassador was to be believed, a secret marriage to someone she loved wasn’t such a big deal, was it?

As a matter of fact, she’d rather have spent the council defending such an action than sit and hear about how awful she was. There really was nothing like being berated in an official environment after two years of being hailed as the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste; being used by these nations to prop up their weak governments, quell civil conflict, and act as diplomatic mediators, when really, they would be nothing without her. She saw the dark future, where Corypheus had won, and she knew exactly what she had saved them from. Even if they didn’t.

When the door opened behind them, and a runner came in to whisper in to her ear, she was beyond relieved. Leaving the stuffy, dark, council chamber behind, she strode across the gardens of the palace breathing in the fresh air and the smell of flowers in bloom. It was euphoric, but it wouldn’t last for long, not once she was brought to witness the corpse of a Qunari slumped against a wall, the red warpaint and its own blood becoming almost indistinguishable from one another. 

She wasn’t sure if this whole situation could've gotten any worse but, apparently, it had.

Determined to find out where this Qunari had come from, how it had died, who had killed it, anything, she set off. She would not return to the council now, not now that the white stone paths of the Winter Palace gardens had been stained with blood. The trail was fresh, easy to follow as red set against white, dazzling in the midday sun but dark and threatening in the shadows of overhanging trees. She stalked the palace with ease, she had done this too many times, even climbing the trellis was much easier than it had been when she had been here last, although Maker knows why these trails always led to her climbing ridiculous things.

The trail kept going and going, and she kept following. Past the doors to the palace, through a door to a small side room she had never seen before, and around a corner, twisting as it reached its final destination. For now, at least, as she saw that the trail led not only to a tall mirror standing alone against the back wall of the dimly lit side room, but through it.

She still knew little about eluvians, but she knew how they looked, and she remained wary, approaching the mirror slowly, carefully, worried that someone would burst out and assail her as she stood with no staff, no armour, alone. When she reached the mirror, she was hesitant still, reaching out her right hand to touch the glass ever so slightly.

The glass rippled beneath her fingers as if it were water, but that wasn’t what made her draw her hand away from the mirror with such ferocity. Her left hand, which had remained loose at her side, had flared up with a pain which was so intense that her thoughts went away from the eluvian for just a second as she stared at her glowing palm, her fingers clenched almost to her palm and her arm shaking with the effort as she tried not to cry out. She brought her arm to her chest as her gaze returned to the mirror, the ancient magic within shimmering and moving before her eyes as she realised what exactly she had found.

She had not only reached the end of the trail, she had also found the answers to all the questions she had yet to answer; the role of the Inquisition, her position in this world, the glowing, painful, anchor which had been with her for two years but which she knew next to nothing about. How could she know this? She felt it, in her hand, her arm, and in the pit of her stomach.

This may be her final adventure, the last bow before the curtain call. The council was likely dissolving her Inquisition even as she stood here now; her decision to abandon the council likely caused an outrage even Josephine couldn’t recover from. If this was to be her last act as Inquisitor, then so be it.

She stepped inside.


	5. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the path through the eluvians, the pain in her hand only gets worse, until they reach the old library where the memories of the elven empire are brought back to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where, if you've played Trespasser, you'll know it gets more angsty. Obviously I'm loosely following the plot of the quest, so from this point on, the story is going to go in to graphic depictions of pain and hurt, as well as mentions of possible death and emotional suffering. I mean I presume you knew this when you first started reading but like, from this point on, it's only going to get worse.

The escape from the council, the adventure she craved, all lay within the infinite world of the Crossroads which existed behind the glass surface of the eluvian. She was back in her armour, her staff in hand, back on the front line where she belonged fighting her way through Qunari as adrenaline coursed through her veins, so absorbed in the heat of battle, the feeling of magic at her fingers once more, the danger, the death, the knife edge on which she stood, that she had almost forgotten about her hand.

She paid little heed to it, but the magic was strong, angry, growing in power and intensity with each step towards the next goal. It was manageable, at first. Small flickers of energy were enough to quell it, a flick of the wrist would send the energy outwards and light their path and, she swore, protected them from harm. She had mastered the unknown magic over the two years, she even thought that being back in the fray would calm it, that perhaps it needed the chance to be used again.

But then the pain started to intensify. She had had only twinges before, a cramping feeling in her hand, a shaking that she had grown accustomed to. But then it hurt; it felt as if she had been pierced through the palm of her hand, but there was no blood there, no mark, only green. Persistent, angry, green. It went almost as soon as it had started, and she paid no mind to it, brushing off the concern of her companions with a throw away comment and a smile.

But then they reached the library.

It was funny, the library was one of her favourites places in her childhood home. It was where the dogs fell asleep in front of the fire, where her father could be found reading or playing chess, where the smell of old, dusty books was inescapable, and an escape in themselves. 

The library at the Circle was even better, even more magnificent, and even more of an escape. It was one of the first places she had found when she had arrived, and she instantly felt at home again. It was always quiet, calm, no one would be stupid enough to practice magic in here. And it held so many books, not just on magic, but on history, arts, theology, the nations of Thedas; so many that she never read them all in the twenty years that she was there,

She had held this same sense of wonder when she entered the shattered library. It was old, older than any of the history she had ever read, older still than the ruins she had visited across Thedas. The history of the place was oppressive, the sins of the past seeping into every dusty corner and broken footpath as they walked uninvited through past shelves and shelves of books she wished she could stop and read. But the sanctity, the safety that libraries offered her, was betrayed. In this moment of peace, with no enemies to distract her, her hand burned with the rage and ferocity of a fire summoned by the most powerful mage in this world. It was as if she had plunged her arm in to the flames under a stove, except she couldn’t pull it away from the heat, she couldn’t bathe her hand in soothing cold water. The fire was inside of her, and it grew and grew, rising and rising up the length of her arm to her elbow until she could do nothing but scream, her voice ringing loud in the silence of the library, echoing against the infinite nothingness behind the shelves filled with books and dust. 

And then it was over, and she was left with what felt like the eyes of the world watching her.

\-----

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Cassandra asked her as she sat in front of her with her legs stretched out, her dark, steely eyes fixed upon her own.

“Well of course she isn’t, Cassandra,” Dorian answered for her. “But she’s not going to tell us that.”

“No, you’re right, I’m not.” She responded, leaning back against the bookshelf behind her and instantly regretting it when she felt a cobweb attach itself to her hair. Luckily Sera, who had always loved to play with her hair, plaiting it or weaving flowers into the sea of red, was on hand to remove it as she sat cross legged beside her. 

“But you’ll tell Cullen, won’t you?” Cassandra half asked, half ordered.

“He worries too much as it is.” She said, disheartened at the thought that somewhere very far from here he was, she guessed, wringing his hands over the war table while she was gone. She could see him now staring at maps and reports and those little placemarkers, and she hoped that he was thinking of her.

“That’s not fair,” Cassandra said. “He is your husband, if anything were to happen…”

“It won’t!” Sera shouted. “Look at her, she’s fine, it’s only her stupid hand and this stupid elf place! She’ll be fine when we get back. You’ll see.”

No one believed her, not even Sera, it seemed. They all sat in silence knowing that they may not get back for a long time, or at all. Well, her friends would be fine, it was her that held them back, her that had brought this sense of danger to their shores. They would make it back, she knew that; even if she didn’t, she would make sure of that if it was the last thing she ever did.

“So if you’re married,” Dorian began, shattering the silence. “Does that mean we have to call you Inquisitor Rutherford now?”

“I...don’t know,” She replied.

“Inquisitor Amy Rutherford,” Dorian said with an air of drama. She only shrugged at the suggestion, although his gesticulating in what she could only imagine was an attempt at mocking Orlesian high society threatened to make her laugh.

“Inquisitor Amélie Selene Rutherford,” Cassandra said, giving it just a few seconds of thought before her, and the rest of them, pulled a face which reminded her of Sera tasting matured Orlesian cheese at the Winter Palace ball. 

“Maybe I should just stick with Trevelyan.” She suggested.

“Maybe people should stop giving their kids poncy names,” Sera added. “Please don’t give your kids poncy names, I might be sick”

“Alright Sera, I promise,” She said.

“And promise nothing horrible is going to happen to you.”

“I promise.” She said, rising to her feet as her companions did the same.

“Pinky promise?”

“Yea, pinky promise.” She echoed as she linked her little finger with Sera’s in a ritual she barely understood, but one which she hoped could soothe her worry. She couldn't handle them all worrying, they had to know she was going to make it through, even if she didn't know that herself.

“Come on,” She called to her companions as she made her way to the final, unexplored eluvian at the top of a set of stairs. “Let’s save Thedas, again.”

“You know,” Dorian said trotting behind her. “Dorian is a nice name.”

“Piss off.” 

The four of them laughed, but she could only manage a chuckle, her hand once again making its anger known with intermittent spasms of pain which coursed through her fingers and up towards her arm. It was less intense than before, even if it was frequent, yet she couldn’t let them see her like that again, and she had to finish what she had started, she had to save all those people at the palace. 

The world was relying on her again, and if she failed, she would never be able to escape the guilt.


	6. To the End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition is falling apart around her, the council is a mess, and she is dying, slowly but surely. How can it get any worse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very angsty and there are graphic descriptions of pain once again. You have been warned.
> 
> Saying that, it's been a while, so you deserve a bit of pain ;)

She had been the inquisitor for over a year now, she had faced the scorn of the chantry, the machinations of Orlais, a creature of hatred who called himself a God. She had stood proud and fierce and strong in the face of the oncoming storm. But now, she had finally broken, her world shattering beneath her feet as the walls around her crumbled, suffocating her as she choked and struggled against her fate. Even Cullen’s embrace, normally so warm and comforting, became too much for her, she had shrugged him off in favour of the cool, night air.

She remembered being seven years old, tiptoeing around her house long after the sun had retired to its rest. How the shadowy furnishings had unnerved her as they loomed above her head in the dark of night; the grandfather clock by the entrance to their living room fearsome in its majesty and daunting in its thundering rhythm. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, her footsteps falling in line with each tick and tock as it bellowed across the hall.

But as she made her way past the clock on her search for a glass of milk, she heard the crackling of a dying fire and the whispering of voices, long before she saw the shadowy figures of her mother and father perched in front of the fire. The way he stood, one hand on his hips, the other on the great stone fireplace, his eyes fixed upon the flames as they danced, it scared her, made her freeze in place. Or, perhaps it wasn't the way he stood, but the way he said her name.

She couldn't remember what they had said, she remembered her mother crying, her father stern and fierce against the flames. And she remembered the way they stopped and stared as they heard her wail and cry as she clutched her nightgown, trying so hard to hold on to her self. But she had heard it all, she had heard the way they spoke of her, she was different, she was a problem, she had failed to be who she needed to be. All because she couldn't stop being who she was.

The walls came crashing down then too, except it wasn't walls, it was shattered glass and broken furniture, a screaming baby and howling dogs. It was her tiny world, a world which was still new to her and which was still full of wonders and excitement. She thought it was all over as they rode away from her home with her mother stood in the courtyard with tears in her eyes and her siblings stood with their father in the great oak doorway. Everything she had known for the last seven years had fallen away from her grasp, and she couldn't imagine what would happen next. 

But this was different. Her world was changing again, everything she had known for the last two years was slipping away from her bit by bit, but this time, it wasn't the worry of what was coming next, it was the knowledge that there was nothing to come.

Her hand burned. The pain was almost constant now, crippling her with each pulse as the magic surged through her veins. She knew there was no way she could survive this, no way that she could walk free after everything that had happened. 

She would never see the Inquisition fulfil its purpose, she would never see the fruits of her labours nor would she live to see a world turned to rights. She would never sit in the tavern at Skyhold with her friends, laughing and drinking with a game of Wicked Grace while the cold night gathered. 

“Inquisitor?” A woman called to her as she stood nervously to the side of her, clutching a worn bundle of notes in her hands. 

“Yes?” She asked softly, trying to sound kind, but only sounding exhausted.

“I found this left in the tavern, it's from one of your companions.” She said.

“Thank you,” She said, taking the parchment from her trembling hands as the woman made a quick escape. She didn't blame her, she thought with a sigh, before making her way slowly towards her rooms in the heart of the palace.

She could see it in their eyes, the fear, the disgust, the dismay. She could hear their whisper; nothing stayed secret in this place. Betrayal. Corruption. Scandal. Their whispers laden with accusations.

“Qunari savages.”

“A servant found dead.”

“Secretly married.”

“That's what happens when mages are set loose.”

She slammed the door behind her. 

The room was dark, still, silent. Cullen wasn't here, but she was glad. She needed the peace, the tranquillity, the escape from the cruel and merciless world around her. She’d forgotten about the notes in her hand, focusing so hard on reaching the safety of her room. She knew that she shouldn't pry in Sera’s thoughts, but she found herself sitting at her desk and turning the pages none the less.

_Don't say the Inquisitor’s hand looks bad. It looks bad._

She paused. Had it been that obvious? It hasn't even been obvious to her, she'd ignored the flare ups for so long that they had become a part of her, the tingling and twitching in her hand becoming a day to day occurrence. How many other people had noticed? Was that why everyone was so nice to her? Was that why Cullen had married her in a quick ceremony in a shadowy corner of the palace gardens?

_Desks watch out!_

The next page made her laugh, a stifled, quiet laugh. But it was refreshing, she would miss this. She would miss them all. Especially the teasing, it really made them all feel like a family, a family to replace the one she had lost long ago, and the one she would never have.

_I will make them know that Amélie ~~had~~ has friends. _

Everything came crashing down.

There was too much weight in that hurriedly scribbled out ‘had’, in the crushing thought of losing all her friends, who had already lost hope of her surviving this. Did Cullen feel the same? Had he lost all hope for their future? How could she have been so selfish?

Her future wasn't just her own, it was his too.

The door opened. Cullen stood in the doorway to her room, their room now, splendid and sad in his red coat and his vacant, lost, expression. The dog stood proudly next to him, but it was Cullen who looked like the lost stray, his eyes wide with fear and his arms hanging loosely at his sides. They only stayed like this for a moment, a brief but pregnant pause, before they ran to each other.

It was the quiver of her lip which drew him to her, she thought, and it was his lost wide eyes which drew her to him. They collided with little force, but they became entangled in each other's arms, her wet, tear stained cheeks pressing against his soft coat, his nose buried in her red hair. 

“I-I'm sorry-" He shushed her before she could finish, his soothing voice calming her with each stroke of her hair by his rough fingers. She stood and cried in his arms for some time, his warmth and his voice so gentle and so kind that she thought she could never pull away, and she clung to him until pain began to shoot up her arm once again, and her cries turned to screams.

The pain numbed all her other senses. She couldn't hear his words of comfort, couldn't see him pick her up and bring her over to their bed, couldn't feel his warm hands upon her skin as he held her and rocked her gently as the pain turned to emptiness which turned to a fretting, feverish, sleep.

She only wished she remembered how his face looked before she slipped into the Fade.

She only wished she had looked at him one last time.


	7. What the Wolf has Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wakes up to a cold, empty bed. The Inquisitor has gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious angst warning!!!! (and no...I'm not joking lol), also a switch to Cullen's PoV in case you're confused.

Sleep threatened to envelope him once again, but he fought back, stubbornly fighting the oncoming tide until he was free from it's hold on him, rolling over to fill the otherwise empty bed. 

Empty?

Cullen shot up, the throes of sleep abandoning him in earnest as he searched the room with his eyes. The dog was there, standing by the doorway with a pitiful look in his eye. But the two were alone; the bed was cold and empty beside him, devoid of it's usual occupier and the warmth she brang not just to the covers, but to him. 

He was alone, and it concerned him.

He marched out of bed, the dog falling into step besides him as he dressed himself in the same red coat he had been wearing for these last few days, the same one he had gotten married in, and the one which mirrored the coat his wife had slept in last night.

_Cullen._ A whisper in his memory, a blurred image of a woman in red curled up under his arm with a smile and a sigh in the dreamy haze of an autumn dawn, when the world hadn’t quite woken up yet, the birds were yet to sing, and everything looked so distant and dreamy so much so that he couldn’t tell if they had been awake or asleep.

“I need to go,” She’d whispered.

“No, you don’t,” He’d answered.

“I do, I’m sorry,”

“Stay, please,”

“I’m sorry,”

He hated himself for letting her leave. But she was as stubborn as he was, and he had been half asleep, on a brief respite from the lures and horrors of the Fade, when she’d thrown off the covers and left. Maybe he had been asleep, maybe she had draped the covers she had abandoned back over his sleeping form before making her exit. He could be angry, she’d left him with hardly a word, just a smile and a gentle kiss on his furrowed brow. Did he even get a kiss? Or was that just a whisper from the Fade, a temptation of hope and happiness against the despair they had both shared before their descent into the realm of sleep?

Did she even say goodbye?

He wouldn’t think of goodbyes, not while everything was so fragile. The future he had planned, _they_ had planned, it all balanced on a knife edge. He had been so sure of it all, their marriage, their dreams, their future in the Inquisition panning out just as it had before, except with less sneaking around, less fumbling in dark corners and nighttime escapades in locked rooms, and more akin to what a relationship should be: openly sharing their love for the whole world to see. But now the Inquisition was close to ruin, and his wife? She’d run from his bed at the crack of dawn with her wounded pride and wounded arm that tried desperately hard to stop her heart and take her from this world, from him.

Where was their future now?

“Cullen!” Josephine cried, hurrying down the hallway outside the council chamber to meet him. Her gaze fell to his side, and then to the crowds of people in the hall behind him, her face a mask of confusion. “Where’s the Inquisitor?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“Oh, in the name of Andraste, where the hell is she?” She said, her face buried in her hands. 

“I don’t know,” He replied, he could hear his voice wavering with every word, and she heard it too, her sharp voice softening as she noted his concern, her face becoming less of a storm and more of a soft breeze on the first morning of spring.

“Leliana will know,” Josephine said, waving down the Divine who stood in her tall white hat and ostentatious gown by the entrance to the chamber.

“What is it?" She asked, marching down the hall to join them. “Where's the Inquisitor?”

“We don't know,” Cullen said meekly. But he had a feeling where she had gone. 

“The eluvian?” Leliana asked him.

He didn’t answer. They called to him as he walked away, but he didn’t turn back, his walk brisk and resolute even as his confidence wavered and fear rose up within him, his insides churning and twisting as if they held a live serpent in their midst. Walking through the palace had rarely been pleasant to him, but now it was terrifying. The soft, autumn glow of the gardens which had blessed their wedding day had been replaced by a harsh frost, the flowers wilting under the weight of the cold, the wind bitter and biting in its embrace, the people fierce and harsh in their judgements. He walked past with a grimace, and they returned with a look of disgust. 

They had arrived here amidst spectacle, the people desperate to see the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste herself, the one who brought peace to a war torn world. But now, they would leave amidst fear and disdain. The peace had been shattered. The foundations of the Winter Palace rocked with the threat of invasion, the little world which existed within had been torn apart. And they all blamed her.

“Did the Inquisitor come through here?” He asked the sentry guarding the storage room to the side of the palace.

“Yes, sir,” He replied. “About two hours ago.”

“Thank you,” He said, his stomach churning as he walked past the sentry and entered the room with the mirror, its glass shimmering before his eyes. He always felt strange being so close to it, maybe it was the magic seeped into the glass, or the knowledge that, behind there, an entire world stretched out into infinity. Now, it was the thought of her being in there with only a small cohort of friends and some sort of strange, unknown magic that was trying its hardest to kill her. He didn’t even know if it was worth him waiting here. Maybe it was a blessing that she’d gone before he could say goodbye.

He had to stop thinking like that.

After this, if the council ended as badly as it had started, they could escape. Move to the countryside and live their lives in peace, somewhere close to his family but not far from hers, he knew how much she wanted to reconnect with the family she had lost, he could put up with the terrifying thought of visiting her family if he was doing it for her. Trouble is, they had no idea how to sustain themselves, they were hopeless, victims of a life in confinement. They’d have to be landowners, but then he really would be a lord; he should’ve thought about that before he married not only a lady, but the daughter of a bann.

Would their children be nobility? That’s if the Maker inferred such a blessing on them, their life hadn’t exactly been very blessed up until that point. I mean, she was a mage, mages lose their right to noble family ties, which was probably a good thing. So maybe they could be left alone with their own little family in their own little world away from politics and power and wars over who said what and who owns what. Maybe the council going horribly wrong was a good thing for them? Maybe this was what they needed. That’s if they ever got the chance...

The mirror glowed in front of him. His eyes shot up, squinting against the bright, shining light which emitted from within, masked by the silhouette of one, no, two, people, coming through the glass side by side. 

“Amy,” He whispered with a sigh of relief, the sight of her, so familiar and welcome to him, a beacon of hope against the dark thought which had plagued him all day. She even smiled as he approached, a faint smile, but a smile nonetheless. She was ok, that was all that mattered.

“I’m sorry,” She said again, just as she had before, but this time her voice was weak and broken. And then he saw the tears in her eyes, the arm which hung loosely on her left side, the way her body swayed ever so slightly as he reached out to touch her cheek.

He caught her, his arms grasping her exhausted form to his chest as he lowered to his knees under the dead weight of her body. Every ounce of his body shook, his hands desperately grasping at her mud stained coat as if his own unbreakable grip could keep her in this world with him, as if he could keep her from slipping away from him by holding her face so close to his that nothing else mattered, by keeping her safe in his arms against the tyranny of death, by sharing tears that were intended for no one but each other.   
“You’ll be ok,” He whispered.

“I’m sorry,” She repeated. “I think we would’ve had fun together.”

“No!” He cried. “Please don’t leave me. Please, _Maker..._ ”

Her answer was simple: her eyes closed. 

_Maker, please._


	8. Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has sat and watched the Inquisitor for days, but she still hasn't woken. How long can he hold on for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit of a short filler chapter but there's some nice fresh angst and a bit of cuteness so please enjoy :) (also Cullen POV again)
> 
> Also I've had some very lovely comments on the past few chapters just to let you know I read them all and I appreciate them so much thank you for your support and sorry about the pain.

He couldn’t handle it anymore.

It was all too much for him. He had stood in the stuffy, dark room, day and night, watching people do things he didn’t understand, cast magic he didn’t understand, talk in terms he didn’t understand. The truth was, he still didn’t understand what had happened, where she had been, how she had slipped away from him so quickly.

She had always been one of those people that everyone was drawn to, she was at the centre of her own world, and she’d brought the rest of the world in too. She was laughter, happiness, the break of dawn after a long, winter's night. But she had seemed too small in his arms when she’d come out of that mirror, so delicate and fragile, the colour in her cheeks long replaced by a pallor, pale tone. And she seemed so small even now, lying beneath the ornate covers of the bed which had been theirs, the one in which they had shared their wedding night as they stayed together long in to the night, whilst the rest of the palace slept the night away. It was hard to see those sweet memories replaced by the bitter taste of reality. It never lasts; happiness, peace, hope. 

He couldn’t handle it anymore. So he left.

It had been...how long? Two days, perhaps? He couldn’t tell, all he knew was that the glaring rays of the sun blinded him as he left their room, as if it were cursing him for daring to leave his wife’s side. But, thankfully, there was no one to bother him. He needed air, but most of all he needed the space to breathe.

Except it was even more stifling outside than it had been inside. The flowers of the garden were so pungent that it made him feel queasy and his head throbbed from the lack of sleep, the lack of food, lack of everything, which was only made worse by the sudden assault to his sense of smell. And then there was the guilt, eating at him like a parasite as he enjoyed the warming rays of the sun whilst his wife slept alone in a dark, musty room. What if she woke up and he wasn’t there? That was the thought that had driven him these last few days, imprisoned him, tied him to a chair by her side. But then another thought creeped in to his consciousness: what if she never woke up? What if she was taken from this world for good, and he had been selfishly succumbing to his own desires?

No, he had to go back.

“Cullen!” Josephine called, stopping him in his tracks as he watched her run towards him. She looked dishevelled, her hair slightly out of place and her cheeks flushed. “Is everything alright? How is she?” She asked in a flurry.

“I-um,” He began. “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” She said quietly, her gaze lowering and her cheeks turning a deep maroon. “I can’t imagine how you feel, I’m at the end of my tether myself. I can’t deal with all these people anymore.”

“The council isn’t still taking place?” He asked.

“No, they’ve suspended it until the Inquisitor has recovered.” She said, her voice hanging after ‘recovered’, as if she were stopping herself from saying ‘if’. “It’s her family. They sent a representative after I contacted them telling them what happened. Now he won’t leave me alone.” She said, before stopping abruptly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t burden you with all my problems.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t,” She said with a sigh. “Go and see her.”

“I’ve been in there for days.”

“I know,” She said. “But if you stay out here any longer you might get harassed by the Trevelyan dogsbody.”

“I don’t think I can handle that as well as you have,” He said, forcing a smile.

“No, not looking like that anyway, they might begin to question what kind of man married in to their ancient, noble house” She said with a smile, eyeing up his unkempt hair, his unshaven face, the dark circles around his eyes. “Anyway, you can give these to her.” She passed him three letters, all sealed immaculately and adorned with delicate writing. The temptation to read them shamefully engulfed him, especially as he began the slow walk back to their room, stopping only briefly to pluck some flowers from the delicate pot they were being held in, hopefully no one would miss those. He knew that at least one paragraph of prose had to be about him and their scandalous secret marriage, he was curious to see what they thought of it all, how much trouble he had put her in. But he could wait, and they could read them together, maybe. The thought almost made him smile. 

He almost smiled again when he entered their rooms. Seeing her lying on their bed, wrapped in layers of well fashioned bedding with the remainder of her left arm exposed to the elements and reminding him of all the horrors she had been through. She looked peaceful, at least, the stresses of her life no longer a burden upon her as she rested. He couldn’t tell if that was a good thing, but she still breathed, so he had some semblance of hope.

The flowers looked a little sad as he placed them in a vase beside her table, but he didn’t care. Perhaps if the curtains were opened and the sun allowed to enter, they would perk up. Perhaps if she woke up, they would too. And then maybe he would as well. But for now he would just watch her sleep, as he had done for however long it had been since she fell through that eluvian. At least he had the dog to keep him company, but even he had gotten bored and wandered off to find some food, although the smell of wet dog hadn’t gone away, maybe it was him…

He jumped out of his seat. Had he just seen something move? A flicker of an eye, a twitch of a nose, perhaps. No, but he heard something. A sigh, an exhalation of air as if something heavy had lifted from her shoulders, like breathing in the fresh morning air on a frosty winter morning.

And then her eyes opened, and she woke up.


	9. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really feel the need for a summary because it goes straight on from where the last one picked up, but from Amy's POV.

She didn’t see him leave, she was alone and abandoned in an unfamiliar place, all broken stones and ancient ruins speckled with weeds and tall, climbing, vines. The sun was aggressive, its rays dazzling to her tired eyes as she knelt on the cold, hard floor, exactly where he had left her. She was exhausted, her eyes were heavy, her body ached, protesting the strain she had put it under these last few days. She couldn’t stand. She couldn’t move. Instead, she waited.

Green light flashed before her eyes, and he was in front of her again, reaching out for her arm and pulling it towards him. Her left arm, with the green, angry fire which danced beneath her skin and had hurt her, burned her, smothered her with pain these last few years. The Anchor was her curse, and then it was salvation, raising her to the dizzying heights of a hero and saviour. The Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, saviour of Thedas. But then she had been cursed again, and now everything she had become had been ripped away with just a flicker of magic.

The magic of a god.

Her body crumbled to the ground. The world around her fading in to nothingness, dissolving away in a murky, white mist as everything turned black. For a while that was all she saw, a black, cavernous abyss which carried on in to infinity, broken only by a green light which moved further and further away from her. When she stared, her eyes squinting against the dark, she saw why. 

The figure of a wolf was moving away in to the abyss in front of her, and with it went everything that had made her who she was. The waning green glow of the Anchor, the accident that had brought her so much, and threatened to take it away. Or had it? Was this her afterlife? Had the Maker shunned her efforts and cursed her to an eternity of nothingness? 

Oh no, he hadn’t, far from it.

She woke up, gasping for breath as if her lungs had filled with water under the weight of the Waking Sea. Except they hadn’t, she hadn’t drowned, hadn’t died at the hands of an ancient god, she hadn’t passed in to the arms of the Maker. She was in a comfortable bed, in a room she recognised; she could smell sweat, wet dog, musty furnishings, covered by the pungent smell of pink wildflowers which stood in a makeshift case on the table next to her bed. Behind them, Cullen sat framed by the vibrant pink petals, his eyes weighed down by fatigue, his face unshaved, his hair wild and curly without its products.

“You’re here.” She whispered, her voice coming out dry and raspy as she fought with a series of coughs, the effort of which almost sent her back to sleep.

“You’re awake,” He said, his voice as soft as velvet compared to hers, his words sounding so soothing and gentle in her ears, his voice as sweet as the honey in his eyes. She found herself reaching out to touch him, waiting to feel the scratch of his unshaven beard against her soft fingers. Except she had reached out with the shadow of her arm, an image of what was once there and, expecting to see the faint outline of green magic beneath her palm, she saw nothing.

If she could, she would have screamed. 

Cullen came to her in an instant, his warm hand upon her cheek as he knelt beside her bed, his face inches from her own. She panted and gasped beneath his touch, her cheeks wet with tears. But somehow he calmed her, it must’ve been his soothing words, his gentle touch, the familiar, earthy smell that was his own personal secret to share with her, overlaid with the hint of wet dog and sweat.

“How long has it been?” She asked quietly.

“A few days?” He said, unsure.

“And you’ve been here the whole time?” 

“Of course I have,” He said with a warm smile. “Except to go to the toilet, it felt a bit strange using your bedpan.”

“I wasn’t in a position to argue.” She said, trying to smile. “Where’s the dog gone?” She asked, noticing the lack of the slobbering, Ferelden, beast who had hounded at his heels since their wedding day. Their wedding day, it seemed so long ago now...

“I think he got bored,” He said with a laugh. “Or hungry.”

“You didn’t then?”

“Of course not,”

What had she done to deserve him? What had she done to deserve this second chance of life, to wake up next to the warm, smiling, face of her husband, clad in his familiar red coat as he sat on guard, watching, and waiting for her to wake? Days or weeks, she could’ve been asleep for, or she may never have woken, and yet here he was, diligent and disheveled, but vigilant and loyal to the last. Maker, she was lucky.

“Should I leave you to sleep?” He asked gingerly.

“No!” She cried, her voice was desperate, but soft and quiet, as sleep threatened to overwhelm her once again; a battle she fought, but knew she couldn’t win. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He agreed, rising from her bedside to pull the covers back over her shoulders, so that only her head was exposed to the cold.

“When I do,” She began, mumbling in to the edges of the duvet. “Will you promise to look after me?” 

“I promise,” He said, planting a kiss on her forehead and backing away from the bed.

“Wait!” She cried softly.

“Yes, love?”

“Will you promise to go and shave?”

“I promise,” He said with a shy laugh, his cheeks turning a soft pink as he ran his hands over the scratchy beard. “And I’ll sort out my hair.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“You do?” He asked, but she didn’t answer, the call of sleep coming to claim her once again. Slipping back in to the Fade once again, she found herself face to face with a giant, black, creature, its fearsome eyes watching her with the intensity of a raging inferno as it towered above her tired, damaged, form.

It was the figure of a wolf.


	10. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor adjusts to a new world, and decides the fate of the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came a bit out of the blue while forced to sit in my house and wait for builders... it's also super long, sorry. We're also on the home straight now, although I've ended up adding a bonus chapter which is a bit more light hearted, just to make up for breaking your hearts for 3 chapters in a row lol, that's coming up next. But in the mean time, enjoy, and thank you for making it this far. :) <3

She awoke, panting and sweating, from dreams of battle tinged with gatlock fire, waged by Qunari through glowing blue mirrors; the wolf with its shining eyes ever present in the shadows. Through blurry eyes, she saw Cullen asleep in a chair at her bedside, his face twitching as he fought his own demons. He would wake soon, she knew, how often had she comforted him as he woke from the world of nightmares? But he had never had to do the same to her, that would be new.

She sat herself up in bed and waited. The room was dark and cold, no one had come to light a fire yet, she must’ve woken long before dawn. She went to pull one of the blankets over her shoulders but it slid back on to the mattress, leaving her exposed and cold in her flimsy nightgown. She was still getting used to this, the absence of a hand, she still felt her fingers reaching out to grab, still saw the flicker of green light beneath skin, still writhed in her sleep as her skin burned under the anchor’s weight. But then she looked, and there was nothing there.

A frantic gasp for air from Cullen made her turn to him in earnest, the distance between them seemingly as vast as the Hissing Wastes. Before the Council, she would be at his side, but now, clumsier even than before, she didn’t move, she only stared.

“Amy?” He said quietly, breaking the silence between them. He rose slowly from his chair, stretching his limbs and rubbing his eyes before planting himself next to her on the bed.

“Do your nightmares ever get better?” She asked suddenly, her gaze dropping to look at her fingers as they played with a stray thread on her nightgown.

“No,” He replied, looking at her with confusion, and then concern, his eyes softening their gaze as he placed a hand on the top of her back. “You’re cold.” He told her, his voice soft and gentle. Grabbing the blanket she had tried to claim earlier, he placed it around her shoulders, enclosing her in a cocoon of warmth which immediately began to work its wonders on her, the touch of the man she loved warming her heart, while the blanket warmed her skin.

“Thank you,” She said with a smile as she enjoyed the safety, the comfort, which came from his presence, the room warming and the the dawn rising as they sat together.

“I promised I’d look after you,” He reminded her, before a long whine interrupted them, both of them turning to look at the face of Cullen’s new charge, the lumbering, drooling, mabari.

“He came back then?” She asked him, her arm reaching out to give the smelly dog a scratch behind the ears.

“Yea,” He said, rising up off of the bed and reaching for his coat. “I think he wants to go outside though.”

“Can I come?” She asked, partly out of desperation to leave the room she had been holed up in for so long, but also out of fear of being left alone with her thoughts.

“Oh,” He said, startled. “Yeah, of course. I’ll help you get dressed.” The dog only whined more as time went on and as clothes were pulled over her head, shoes were placed on her feet and laced just a little bit too tight, and, in place of the garish red coat she had been wearing for her stint at the palace, which was still being adjusted by a seamstress, he placed the familiar white coat over her shoulders, which had been everywhere from the Dales, to the Deep Roads, left unfastened as if it were a cloak. With it, she felt almost herself again. Almost.

She regretted her decision to leave the room almost as soon as the door opened. The hallway was cold, but the outside was even colder, the beautiful palace gardens covered in a sheen of frost which glittered in the morning sun, which had only just begun to shine above the garden walls. She never really minded the cold, except today it was bitter, lashing at her even as she hid under her thick white coat and assaulting at the remnants of her left arm. She was just thankful that she was a healer, but healing yourself was never really quite as effective.

“You alright?” Cullen asked her as the dog ran off to chase a fly, the concern in his eyes ever present since she had first woken up.

“I’m fine,” She said with a smile, hiding her shiver behind the thick lining of her coat. “Have you named him yet?” 

“Who?” 

“The dog!” She cried, pointing at the clumsy war hound who was bucking wildly in pursuit of the fly.

“Oh, no, I haven’t,” He told her, his breath escaping in a laugh which formed a white mist that left his lips and dissipated in the cold, morning air. “I wanted to wait for you.”

“Why?” She asked. “He’s your dog.”

“He’s your dog too!” He replied. 

“But what if-”

“Don’t.” He said abruptly, his eyes glazing over as he stared out into the still and silent garden. She could see the muscles in his neck tensing, his eyes dropping down to stare at his feet. Maker, had it really been that close?

“Inquisitor?!” A shrill voice cried from behind them. Both of them turned to find Josephine running toward them with as little elegance as she could ever imagine the ambassador exhibiting. “It’s so good to see you! Is everything ok? Are they looking after you?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” She responded with a smile, she had no idea how much she’d missed everyone, or how much everyone had missed her. “How’s the Council going?”

“I’ve done what I can,” She replied, her sigh not going unnoticed. “But don’t worry about it, I’ll sort everything out for us. Go and get some rest.”

“Thank you,” 

“Did Cullen give you your letters? From your family?”

“No,” She replied, looking over at Cullen, who looked rather sheepish.

“I forgot, sorry,” He confessed. 

“Useless,” Josephine cried, rolling her eyes before turning back to her. “Your family sent an envoy with letters from your family, but he won’t leave without a response.”

“Then tell him to invite my mother to the palace,” She suggested. “That will be much easier.”

“I’m not sure you have the authority to invite people to the palace, Inquisitor,” Josephine said.

“Alright then ask the Divine to invite her,” She replied. “But in all honesty, I don’t think I care anymore.”

“Right,” Josephine said, looking somewhat unsure. “I’ll let him know.”

“Thank you,” She replied as Josephine turned to leave. “Come on, Cullen, let’s go and read those letters you forgot to tell me about.”

\-----

“I think you should call him Leo.” 

“What’s that?” Cullen asked as he combed through the desk which had mysteriously become cluttered whilst she was asleep.

“The dog.”

“Oh, right,” He said, turning to look at the slobbering mabari who was chewing on a stick he had claimed as his own. “That’s a good name. Oh, wait! I found them!” He cried, brandishing a small pile of letters.

“Well done!” She said in a mocking tone, earning a wounded look from her husband. “Come on, you can come over here and read them to me.”

“I don’t know if I will now,”

“You promised you’d look after me!” She cried, trying her best to look sad, her lips forming a pout. He joined her on the bed with a sigh, planting himself down next to her and placing his arm around her and planting a kiss on her forehead, his fingers playing with her hair at the side of her head, something which he knows will never fail to calm her.

“I can’t read this one,” He told her, his eyes squinting at the words in front of him.

“Oh for fucks sake, Mother,” She said with a sigh. “She’s always written in Orlesian. “It’s the language of the elite Amélie!”” She cried in an affected Orlesian accent. “You know she’s only half Orlesian!”

“But you can read this?” He asked, stifling a laugh.

“Well I never really had much choice.” She replied, before clearing her throat. “" _Dear Amélie,_ "” She began, soliciting a laugh from Cullen. “Should I keep doing the accent?”

“Please don’t,” Cullen said between laughs. “It’s too funny.”

“” _How can I begin to describe our reaction to the letter you sent your brother. For one, your father is offended, first of all that you would contact Lionel and not himself, and second of all, that someone would have the audacity to marry his daughter without his permission!_ ”” She stopped reading and looked up at him with an expression of false sincerity. “How dare you!” She cried, before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Don’t look at me like that!” He cried. “They’re going to hate me aren’t they.”

“Oh they’ll get over it.” She replied. “I can’t read the rest of that one without losing the will to live, pass over the next one from her.”

“This one?” He asked, offering her another note in scrawling Orlesian prose.

“Yep!” She said. “” _Dearest Amélie.”, oh well I’ve never had that level of an emotional response from her, that’s a first. “Your ambassador has contacted me, she tells me that you have been injured so gravely that many fear for your life. This pains me. The thought of losing you now, just as you had been given back to me-_ ”” She stopped, the words on the page beginning to swim before her eyes as the fingers on her hand began to shake and her vision blurred with the threat of tears. “I’m not reading the rest of this. Who sent the other one?”

“This one? I think it’s from your brother.” He offered her the last letter which, thankfully, was in the common tongue and, thankfully, was a lot less morbid. Maker how had she never thought of the people around her, who watched her as her life hang in the balance? How had she been so selfish? “” _Sister! I admire you, I really do. I could tell how much you liked the man when I saw you at the palace, and I can understand why, I mean, he was popular amongst the courtiers, including myself, may I add._ ” Well at least your brother doesn’t hate me, albeit for the wrong reasons.”

A knock on the door interrupted them, followed by the head of a small elven girl which poked out from behind the oak door. 

“Inquisitor?” She asked sheepishly.

“Yes?”

“I have your coat,” She said, shuffling into the room and placing the coat down upon an empty chair.

“Thank you,” She said with a smile. “Do you happen to know what’s happening with the Council?”

“Oh,” She said, startled. “Lady Montilyet is in there with the Divine and the Ambassadors, but I don’t know what they’re talking about. There’s a lot of shouting.”

“Right, thank you,” She said, as the girl bowed quickly before leaving. “Cullen, can you help me put this coat on?”

“You’re not going in there?” He asked, his voice betraying his confusion but also his concern. 

“You know we won’t get anywhere with compromise,” She told him. “As much as I love Josephine, she can’t do it for much longer.”

“I can’t stop you, can I.” He said with a sigh.

“No, you can’t,” 

\-----

“Inquisitor?” 

The spectators in the council chamber turned to stare at her as she entered, but she wouldn’t be swayed. She was the Inquisitor, and she wore the same determined face now as she had worn when she had marched on Adamant, faced down Corypheus, walked through the eluvian in pursuit of Solas. They likened her husband to a lion, but she was a lioness, and she would bow to no one; nobility, kings, empresses, they would not imprison her, bind her to their will. 

She would serve no one but the Inquisition, she belonged to no one but herself, and she would compromise with no one except her husband.

And the Inquisition would not fall today.


	11. Lady Trevelyan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelie's mother arrives at the palace after hearing about her marriage to Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a lighter one to make up for the pain i've caused you all, it's also surprisingly long by my standards, no idea why. As always, thanks for coming along on this wild ride with me <3

The sun had risen above the palace gardens, bringing warmth to the cold stone and heat to her sensitive skin, the threat of burns becoming an increasing concern to her. It was autumn now, yet the sun was still warm and the garden still full of brightly coloured flowers and emerald green trees. The sun had never been her friend, her skin too prone to burns, and it wasn't today either. She had begun to sweat too, not just from the warmth, but from the nerves. This wasn't looking to be a good day, nor a particularly good idea.

Her jaw was clenched, her fingers wringing behind her back, her eyes watching the golden gates at the end of the garden path, waiting and waiting for a sign of movement. She was nervous, but excited, scared, but eager. In her nervous state, she’d come here alone, no servants, no friends, no husband, to cloud her thoughts. Instead, she perched on the side of the fountain, watching her reflection in the clear water which rippled at her touch. 

How long had it been? Months, possibly. She’d changed so much since then, the scar on her left cheek had faded somewhat, her hair had grown, even now it was falling out of the ponytail Cullen had tied for her this morning, her skin had reddened ever so slightly under the sun. And then there was her arm, lost forever, and her smile which she knew had lost some of its former intensity. She tried all she liked, but she could never quite feel the joy that once surged through her, her laugh was more hollow, a shadow of its former self, her eyes less expressive, veiled by a shadow accentuated by a lack of sleep. 

A loud clang drew her gaze away from the fountain and towards the golden gates which shone as they opened, proclaiming the arrival of a guest with the screeching of metal on stone, a screech which sent a shiver down her spine and made her fingers grasp at the red fabric of her coat.

Maker, what the hell had she done?

“Inquisitor!” A herald called as he strode up the garden path towards her, a woman clad in a dark blue cloak with fading red hair pulled back tightly in a bun following close behind. Her face was stern, but the her eyes betrayed her wanderlust as they eyed the array of flowers, the elegant fountain, and the sight of her daughter stood before it. “This is Lady Corinne Trevelyan, wife of-”

“Yes, thank you,” She told him, fighting back the urge to tell this man that yes, she did know who her mother was. “Have her luggage brought to her rooms.” She told him. “I thought we could take tea in the gardens?”

“That sounds lovely,” Her mother said with a smile carved from stone, before the two of them strolled away from the fountain and towards the palace gardens, empty except for the odd servant here and there, rushing back and forth with arms full of laundry or papers or luggage, from one of her companions, she expected. 

Dorian was likely to leave first, although she noticed he kept finding small reasons to stay. The weather, or a person he wanted to see, or an issue he wanted to raise with the Orlesians. But then she did keep bumping in to the Iron Bull in the corridors late at night suspiciously close to Dorian’s rooms. She expected the Chargers to leave shortly after, and then the palace really would be quiet, devoid of the shouts and laughter which kept the residents up until the early hours.

“How was your journey, mother?” She asked as they sat at a delicate, white table, set out with a floral, china tea set by the garden wall, the sound of trickling water providing a backdrop to the polite conversation between them.

“Long, but worth it,” She replied, pouring the tea in to two cups. “I haven’t come here in so long, I forgot how beautiful it was.” 

“Yea, it’s lovely,” She said, looking down at the cup in front of her.

“I didn’t expect you to be alone though,” Her mother said, her eyes steely, but glittering with the prospect of gossip. “Will your husband not be joining us?” She asked, the intonation on the word ‘husband’, partnered with the quizzical look, grated on her. But she knew better than to rise to the bait, and she wouldn’t be providing the gossip that she was fishing for.

“He’s busy with work,” She told her, receiving what she thought was either a feigned look of disappointment or a look of relief. “I’m sure he can join us later.”

“I won’t lie, Amélie,” She began the lecture that had been brewing possibly since she had left Ostwick. “It was all a bit of a shock, although Lionel seemed rather pleased with himself. At least someone can vouch for the man’s credibility.”

“Well that’s because Lionel actually bothered to visit.” She snapped. “Or, at least, write.”

“Well you came to see us last year,” 

“Only because I’d heard that Claudette was with child,” She told her, placing the cup back on its saucer. “How is she anyway?”

“She’s fine,” She replied. “It’s good to have another little girl in the family, although her husband didn’t share the same opinion. He will get over it eventually.” 

“He sounds like a charming man,” She said, rolling her eyes as she sipped on her tea.

“Yes, well, at least we met the man before they married.” Her mother quipped sharply. “And at least he asked for permission.”

“Oh for Maker’s sake, Mother.” She snapped again, her patience wearing about as thin as a frozen lake on the onset of spring. “You’re going to have to get over it, it’s happened.”

“You’re not pregnant are you”?

“Mother!”

“What?” She asked with a look of pure innocence. “You know the Arasette’s from Starkhaven? Their youngest daughter had a pretty speedy marriage 8 months ago, and just had her baby a week past, as healthy and weighty as one born to full term.”

“Good for her,” She replied, her irritation clear. “But no, I’m not, and if I had been, I imagine it wouldn’t have survived the trauma of losing my arm!”

“True,” She said, her eyes fluttering to the void left by her left arm, before pointing downwards to stare into her lap. 

“Anyway,” Amelie said, rapidly changing the course of the conversation. “I should have more time to visit now that our role is being reduced so dramatically.”

“You’ll be able to come for Satinalia?” Her mother asked, her eyes surprisingly betraying a glimmer of hope. “You’ll have to bring your husband, of course. Hopefully by then your father will have forgotten about it all.”

“Yes, Mother, I’d love to,” She said, forcing a smile in response to the one given by her mother. ‘Love’ was a strong word, a word she couldn’t quite use to describe her feelings towards a family Satinalia, nor towards the prospect of her family in general. Twenty years was a long time, far too long, especially when she had been promised to the circle forever. And yet, as they sat in silence, her mother reached out towards her with a pale hand, much older than the one she remembered, her long, elegant, fingers tracing the skin of her cheek, and her scar, the angry slash in her delicate skin, which still felt sensitive to the touch, her flinch involuntary and unexpected.

“What have they done to my little girl?” Her mother whispered into the brisk autumn air, her eyes wide and watery as they searched her face. She didn’t answer, where would she even start? But her eyes did, they watered, sitting on the precipice of a flood of tears, a flood prevented only by the sudden interruption of a rather awkward looking servant.

“Excuse me, Inquisitor?” He asked meekly as she turned to acknowledge him. “I have a report on the progress of the talks.”

“Oh, of course,” She said, taking the piece of parchment from his shaking hands. “Could you send the Commander over?” She asked, skimming the depressing contents of the report. “Just so I can talk it over with him in person.”

“Yes, Lady Inquisitor,” He said, bowing as he turned to leave. Soon after he went out of sight, she noticed Cullen walking briskly towards them, stopping only briefly when he saw that she wasn’t alone. His face was a picture, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, whilst the dog bounded over to greet its secondary owner. 

“Good morning, Commander,” She greeted him with a smile as the dog licked her hand. “Mother, this is Cullen Rutherford, commander of our forces and former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall.”

“Oh,” She cried, placing her tea elegantly down upon the table as she smiled at her poor husband, who looked like he’d rather throw himself into the Abyssal Rift. “How lovely to meet you. I was just saying how you should both join us for Satinalia this year.”

“That’s very kind of you to invite us,” He said carefully. 

“Cullen,” Interrupted Amelie, keen to bring Cullen back to some semblance of comfort. “How are the discussions going? How much of our force are we going to have to give up?”

“Well,” He began, biting his lip. “We’re looking at losing most of our force, also allowing for any that may have… other allegiances.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Amélie!” Her mother cried, her face stricken with offense.

“What?”

“Language!” She scolded. “You are not a common farm labourer, you are a lady.”

“Right, sorry,” She said, turning to Cullen with an exasperated look, who seemed as if was trying desperately hard not to laugh. “You should probably get back to the talks.”

“Of course,” He said, bowing as he back away. “Inquisitor, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Well,” Her mother said after he had left. “Your brother was right about one thing.”

“What’s that?” She asked, somewhat dreading the answer as she returned to her seat at the table.

“He’s a looker.” She said, her lips contorting into a smile. The two looked at each other for a moment, pretending to sip their tea, before dissolving into a fit of giggles, their laughter filling the silence of the garden around them, as servants rushed past giving them strange looks. 

This was what she had wanted. To go beyond the stifled, polite smiles and conversations about the weather. And to find the woman who was her mother once again. It wasn’t the noblewoman in the travelling cloak, with her elegant hair and beautiful furs. No, it was the woman who she could share tea with, and talk about their lives and laugh at the silliest of things.

Maybe one day, they could finally bridge the gap that the circle had created between them, and they could be her family again.

It was definitely looking that way.


	12. Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Council and the negotiations are over, the Inquisition is smaller than before, and the Inquisitor's friends all have their own places to be, leaving her alone for the first time since the Inquisition was reborn.

She had been right, it was Dorian who left first. It was a slow departure, she watched him out of the window of her bedroom as he said goodbye to their companions, leaving Iron Bull to last. She could see the tenderness between them, the awkwardness, the grief that had already blossomed between them as the ending loomed closure. She felt for them, she really did, she'd been separated from Cullen many times, but then there had almost always been the promise of a return. That was, until the council.

She went down to him eventually, pulling him away from his lover with great reluctance on her part, and on his. He could hardly look her in the eye but when he did, she wished he hadn't, his dark brown eyes glistening with tears that wouldn't fall. 

Iron Bull was much the same, but it was harder to tell with just the one eye, plus the impressive height he held over her. Anyway, he had his chargers, and Maker forbid they ever let him breakdown in front of her, although she could imagine him waiting until they were out of her sight and crying wildly onto Krem’s shoulder. She thought that would be her later on, alone in her room except for Cullen, except it wasn’t, far from it.

The rest of her companions trickled through the gates of the Winter Palace one by one, each uttering a heartfelt message of goodbye, in Sera’s case, a pinky promise that they will stay friends and kick butt together. Well, how could she say no that? It was surely better than the alternative, spending her remaining days at Skyhold, empty now of those she cared for and those who had followed her into oblivion, waiting for Solas to bring his judgement upon the world.

“Live well, while time remains.”

That’s what he had told her, and she could try. But Maker, was it hard.

She wandered the gardens once again, retracing the paths which had become so familiar to her, past the fountain with its pure, crystalline waters, the flowers in their beds, the statues and sculptures of great and beautiful people. Yet this time it was different, it was empty, devoid of the chatter or laughter of her companions. The chargers singing in the tavern, Sera passed out against a wall with Blackwall for company, Cassandra pouring over Varric’s new book. They had given this place life, happiness, hope, but now it was still, silent, and lifeless. The sounds of nature had overtaken the garden, birdsong, the trickle of water, the rustle of leaves dancing in the wind. but it was far from calming, if anything it was the opposite. With no distractions, no one to talk to, no one to listen to, she was left alone with her thoughts, the deafening, angry thoughts that had manifested over these past few weeks. 

As afternoon turned to evening, and the sun began to sink beneath the high walls of the palace garden, Amelie sauntered back inside, the peace she sought continuing to elude her even as the sunset dazzled her eyes with beautiful colours of gold, red, pink, purple, a sight which she should find beautiful, but she found little energy to do so. Instead, her attention turned to the bath the servants had prepared for her in her room, and the promises of warmth which the water would bring to her skin. Thankfully, Cullen hadn’t come back yet, he liked his walks with Leo, and in all honesty she enjoyed the chance to be alone.

Lowering herself beneath the waterline, she almost relaxed, she possibly would have if she didn’t have her left arm hanging out of the tub, exposed to the chill in the air. But then, that was preferable to the alternative, scalding hot water on the sensitive skin of her remaining arm, she’d made that mistake once, never again. Still, she lay there for some time, enjoying the smell of lavender from the oils and the feeling of having her hair washed for her. In some ways it reminded her of being a child, except that was her governess, and this was some stranger who worked at the palace. 

Except, at some point, she had to get out. They helped her with that too, she was helped with lots of things these days. Sometimes it irritated her, but today it was fine, and it was preferable to being alone, at least. But then that was the thing about being the Inquisitor, she was never really left alone, or not for long. Her companions had moved on, sure, but then there were the staff who dried her and dressed her, chattering about trivial matters. 

“I wish my hair was like yours, Inquisitor,” One of them said, and she smiled at them. But eventually they left her, sat on her bed in her nightgown in an empty dark room, her knees brought up to her chest, she was alone. It was like being seven years old again, when she had spent her first day in the Circle sat on her new bed with her head on her knees holding back tears. Except this time, she hadn’t been sent away, everyone else had just moved on. And this time, it wasn’t her uncle who came to find her, it was her husband.

He spoke to her, his words always so soothing to her no matter what he said, she wasn’t really listening anyway. It was his voice that calmed her, the voice of the commander slipping away as the voice of her husband took over, so soft, so gentle, and laden with concern. It was like that more often than not these days.

She found her head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her, the warmth from his body so comforting in contrast to the cold which prickled her skin, making her hairs stand on end. She hadn’t even realised that she was cold, but now Cullen was there to keep her warm, to protect her, to look after her, and she finally found herself relaxing.

“What’s wrong?” He asked her, his voice so quiet, a gentle whisper in the dark spoken into her skin, only to be heard by her, no one else.

“Everyone has gone,” She told him, her whole body slumping into his hold as she sighed into his chest.

“I haven’t,” He said, as he stroked the exposed skin at her neck and pushed her damp hair back behind her shoulder.

“No, that’s the problem,” She said, sighing again. “I can’t get rid of you,” She looked up at him then, her lips stretching into a smile as she took in his expression, caught of guard, shocked, and amused, just slightly.

“No, you’re stuck with me,” He told her, finding her right hand which had been clutched to his clothes and fingering the gold band on her third finger, which shone despite the trials she’d subjected it to. A quick smile flashed across his lips, before he brought her fingers to his mouth and planted a gentle kiss to the backs of her fingers. “Forever.” He said finally, drawing his attention back to her face and catching her gaze once again, the candlelight dancing in his warm brown eyes as they glowed the colour of honey. Maker, was she lucky to have a husband like him, his eyes, his smile, his presence, providing a welcome escape from a world which had become so much darker than before.

“Forever,” She repeated, reaching up to plant a kiss on his lips. But in the back of her mind, she heard Solas’ words, as clear as the day he had spoken them

“Live well, while time remains.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final stretch! Just an epilogue to go, hoping i can get that done once my essay is sorted. It's been one hell of a ride, and I appreciate everyone sticking with it throughout. Your comments and kudos do keep me motivated so i appreciate every single one <3


	13. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The council ended 3 months ago, Amelie is still the inquisitor, but how different is her life now? And will the nightmares ever end?

Skyhold was dark, no candles were lit, not even the moon illuminated the dark walls as she walked past, slowly, carefully, not even knowing where she was going, why she was here. But she persisted, moving quietly through the keep, her feet naked upon the stone of the keep, the soft grass of the courtyard, the tangled stems of flowers that she paid no heed to. Until she reached a dark room, the door slamming shut behind her by an invisible force, making her jump, sweat forming on the back of her neck.

The candles lit themselves suddenly, illuminating the dark stone room and showcasing the eluvian in front of her, tall, dark, and menacing in its majesty. She didn't want to be here, she wanted to be anywhere else but here, but her legs wouldn't move, fixed to the spot, she just stared and stared, even as the mirror began to glow a brilliant blue, as iridescent as the moon against the sands of the Hissing Wastes. It kept glowing, and glowing, brighter and brighter, until the shadow of a black wolf sauntered through the glass, slowly, carefully, eyeing up its prey. And as it got closer and closer, her hand burned more and more, the green light under her skin growing and growing until it spread up into her arm in shining bright tendrils. Each time a wolf's paw hit the stone floor, a new spasm of pain shot up her arm, until she was blind to all else except the knowledge that her death was near. And, when the wolf finally stood over her, it's eyes boring into her soul, she accepted her fate, her eyes closing to the world as the wolf growled and her hand burned as fierce as a raging inferno.

That was when she woke up. That was when she always woke. Grasping at the sheets, at her hair, her clothes, her missing arm, which still throbbed and burned even in its absence. That was how she grounded herself, how she knew that she was alive, that she was here, in her room, her bed, safe. Safe. Safe…

There was a noise next to her, a sleep shrouded whimper as her husband fought his own demons, his body hanging out of the sheets which she had claimed as he fought with the nightmare induced sweat that had plagued him every single night since she had known him.

He was right, the nightmares never stopped, they only evolved. They grew stronger, more personal; wolves chased her not through eluvians, but into her home, into Skyhold. 

The cold had claimed her now, the sun refusing to rise and warm the keep as winter began to set in, the Frostbacks already being threatened with a blanket of snow. Shivering, she found herself falling back into the warmth of the bedsheets, tightening them around her shaking form. But she couldn't go back to sleep, it wasn't often that she could. Instead, she would watch Cullen sleep, the lumbering mabari lounging at his feet letting out the occasional snore. 

It used to be him that would wake first, she would wake to find him reading, or doing work, or she'd be woken by the sensation of warm, strong arms tightening around her; he was always a beautiful sight to wake up to. But now it was her, and she got to watch him fight his own battles, his arms and legs twitching, his skin slick with sweat, burning with heat. And she got to wake him now, that's why she always slept on the right of the bed, because then she could roll over and bring her arm around his chest, pulling him close, and bringing him back into the waking world and away from the horrors of the Fade.

These were her mornings now, lazy, quiet, calming, a welcome break from the life she’d led before the Council. They would sometimes have work to do, but most days they lay like this for some time, drifting in and out of sleep in each others arms, warding off each others nightmares. Soothing touches, gentle kisses, and sometimes more, would welcome in the break of dawn. They were free, in some aspects, but in others they weren’t. For one, the dog had climbed on top of Cullen, as he would do every morning, covering them both in slobber and smelly breath as he whined at his master, desperate to go out despite the biting cold and the wet snow which covered the ground. 

The heavy sigh which Cullen expended as he crawled out of bed always made her laugh, and she always loved to watch him dress, his dog bouncing around him. It was one of the best sights in the world, in her world at least, watching the ones she called her family go about their lives from the warmth and safety of her bed. She would go with them in the evening, but not the morning. The morning was for sleep.

The kiss Cullen left her was only quick, but he lingered for just a second, hovering over her and watching her, his eyes drifting down to her parted lips. She knew he wanted more, and she knew that when he came back he would practically sweep her into his arms and make love to her to the sound of birdsong. But the whine of the dog interrupted him, drew him away from her, and into the cold. 

But she didn’t mind, she could never complain. Her life had changed so much, she’d lost so much, and she lived now with crippling fear and horrifying nightmares. But she had a family now, not just her family in Ostwick who she hardly knew, but one of her own. She had her husband, and their erratic mabari, and she didn’t need much else. Maybe one day they would have their own children, but then maybe she should stop the world from ending first.

But then even if the world did end tomorrow, at least she wouldn’t be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we've reached the end! I just want to thank everyone who has been following me on this long and sometimes painful journey. All your kind words have kept me going and inspired me to push on through the tough bits. 
> 
> I'm so glad I did this and I'm proud of myself for doing something i never thought I would do. It's been a journey and a half...but it isn't over...


End file.
